Advent of the Redeemer
by R. Daneel Olivaw
Summary: Mankind survives, but is it truly redeemed? When a new tyrant rises amongst their very ranks allies can come from unexpected places.    Distant future, dystopia, all OCs.    Dedicated to Lyaksandra.


It is March the twenty third in the year 2275, two hundred and forty six years after purification day.

Professor Lyaksandra is sweating profusely as she trudges across the rugged landscape. The day is not that warm, but she is laden with supplies and an overabundance of scientific gear. She has more to sweat about than the temperature and the weight she carries. Possession of the gear alone could get her arrested, possibly burned. Compounded by the fact that she walks into the forbidden zone, her punishment would be swift and brutal.

The Tellers have hammered that point into the mind of every small child, the message of Purity Through Simplicity. Technology leads to power, power leads to corruption, and corruption leads to evil. When evil reaches a sufficient level, the Bright One will come again, and destroy the wicked with his wrath, like it did in the days of Connor's War.

The Tellers say that Connor's victory was hollow, that he saved mankind but did not redeem it. Upon his assassination by Imperator Kaczynski, the true purification had begun. The war against the true culprit, technology itself, was begun in earnest. First came the eradication of the talking machines, those soldiers of the Bright One who sought to deceive through their physical resemblance to the true people. Then every bit of hardware and every book was hunted down and destroyed by the New Order of Paladins. The Holy Imperator and his cardinals enacted the new laws, and the Paladins enforced them. Now all knowledge would be gained only from the mouths of the Tellers, there would be swift justice for anyone in possession of a Machine of More Than Seven Parts, or the generation of electrical charges, and the learning of a written language would be restricted to those who proved themselves loyal and gained rank within the Order.

In the early days of the Purification there was opposition, those who still clung to the crutch of technology, they who were too proud to make their lives through the sweat of their own brows. Despite the horrific casualties of Connor's war, the staggering rate of infant mortality, the black rain and the mysterious wasting sicknesses, war was once again made between the people. Though the population of the world was reduced to mere handfuls, ships of wood were constructed, and powered by the wind, they brought the Word to all corners of the world. What followed was over two centuries of rule by the Imperium over all people.

Except for The Fellowship Of Steam. The reason they chose this name is lost in obscurity, but their mandate is clear. They have for centuries attempted to preserve the knowledge that the Imperium has sought to eradicate. They believe as a group that they would not have been blessed with active and creative minds had they not been intended to use them. Their numerical inferiority has been more than made up for by their willingness to use any sort of technology to their advantage, but still they have been forced to operate in secret to avoid being exterminated by the Paladins as heretics.

Lyaksandra was contacted and recruited at a very young age. A member of one cell recognized early that her mind was too fertile and inspired to accept the yoke of the Imperium, and that her heart was strong enough to embrace a universally denounced ideology. They were rewarded with one of the most loyal and gifted members the Fellowship had ever accepted. She was taught the art of deception, how to hide her gifts from those around her. This most likely prolonged her life, saved her from the culling that occasionally happened when one daisy in the field grew too tall. Instead of being burned at the stake as a witch, she became adept at blending in, a vyed'ma in sheep's clothing.

Her balance of courage, fitness and intellect served her well, and she became the youngest Fellow ever to receive the title of Professor. Her exploits at crafting tools and weapons, and retrieving precious artifacts were known only to a few, but held in great regard none the less. Forays into areas that held promise of technological treasure were always fraught with peril. There were ancient defenses that may still be operational. There were the wild creatures that had survived and begun to thrive in the absence of humans. There was the threat of the wasting diseases that the aura of the old places were rumored to carry. Yet again and again she conducted one woman raids into those lands, and garnered more knowledge than anyone had seen since the Purification.

Over the years, bits of prewar technology had been found, studied, reverse engineered and improved upon. Some of these treasures included long range communication devices, computing tools and weapons. The most rare and useful were parceled out amongst the professors, and as the premier operative, Lyaksandra's secret arsenal now contained the lion's share of it all.

Then came the day she was summoned. Until then, her contacts in the Fellowship had been few, since it had been compartmentalized to protect it from infiltration by the Paladins. This time however, she was commanded to go from cell to cell until she reached the very pinnacle of the pyramid, the eldest of the Fellows. It was then that these keepers of the old knowledge tasked her with the first quest to actually cause her to fear. They asked her to journey into the forbidden zone and make contact with one of the Bright One's soldiers.

Despite her knowledgeable and enlightened mind, her stout heart quailed at the childhood memories of the Tellers tales of the Bright One. Born of the people's conceit that they could craft a machine to keep them all safe, it instead punished them for their wickedness, scouring the heathen from the face of the world with unholy fire, sending its avenging angels to hunt down the infidel and lay them low. In the face of such punishment, only the righteous could prevail, and at that only through blood and horror and sacrifice. Most of her life had been spent trying to recover lost knowledge, unearth the artifacts of the lost past, but this last revelation that vestiges of the Bright One still remained caused her a visceral reaction that made her lose her last meal.

They gave her time to think, and in the end, she decided that for her life to have a proper meaning, she could not go on hiding her light under a bushel. An existence of deception and falsehood could not be all she was destined for. She accepted the task, and prepared for the journey of her lifetime, a trek from which she would never return as the same fundamental person. By her very acquiescence she had embraced her inner witch, had at last fully renounced the culture from which she had sprung. It was not an easy decision, despite her natural introversion there were people whom she loved that she knew she would never see again. She did not know what would happen, but she knew she would never return to life as she had known it.

And so she trudges across a barren landscape, into a terrifying place that has been forbidden for more than two hundred years. She crossed the border of what was once known as Estados Unidos Mexicanos in the middle of the night, adjusting her hand crafted goggles to scan the horizon for the horses of the Paladins in the utter darkness. Now she travels north into the forbidden zone towards a place known only in legend as The City of Angels. The goggles are now adjusted to compensate for searing sunlight reflected off of sand, and the leather straps are damp against her face. She labors under the weight of a voluminous pack, and the belt and shoulder straps are festooned with devices of varying complexity. At her belt hangs a machete in a leather scabbard, next to a device that uses solid fuel to launch small projectiles at high speeds, an effective weapon against would be predators. The method this device uses to ready the next projectile gives it its name, revolver. From one pack strap hangs a small box with an illuminated screen and keys to input commands and data. In her hand, she holds another box, with dials and meters on the face. If this can be relied on, she is in no danger from the energies that once caused the wasting sickness.

She would prefer to walk at night and hide during the daylight, but even assisted by the goggles she would not be able to see the bits of black tarry gravel dispersed throughout the sand. Rumored to be the remains of a once mighty road, this trail of dark breadcrumbs is her path of yellow bricks that will lead her to the Forbidden City. Day becomes night and she makes camp. Dawn breaks, and she resumes her trek. The cycle repeats until she begins to see buildings in the distance.

As she nears them she sees that they are not like the wood and adobe structures of her home, simple places built by the hands of a community. These are monstrous frightening wrecks, with metal bones protruding from shattered concrete skin. Piles of shattered glass that once must have been huge flat sheets covering windows lay on the ground. The sheer opulence of a single sheet of glass is almost boggling, an each building seems to have had hundreds, and there are hundreds of these ghost buildings in this graveyard of edifices. And that is only a single detail of the wonders that must have once existed here. Her mind reels at the evidence of technologies once in widespread use. She has seen examples of it over and over before, but the sheer mass of it in this once mighty city causes her to become actually dizzy.  
>She drops her pack, and sits to drink some water. She contemplates the culture shock she would be experiencing should this place suddenly return to life. She wonders if she could adjust to such a wonderland, a place she had dreamed of since she was small. Would the reality of such dreams prove too much for her? She sometimes felt out of place amongst small gatherings of people, how would she react to the teeming masses that must have inhabited this place? She decides that it is easier to be courageous in the face of physical danger, but admits to herself that she is managing to adjust to the alien feel of this place a little bit.<p>

Then she notices the coyote. It stands in the overgrown street staring at her. It remains motionless while she slowly draws the revolver from its holster. When she levels the weapon at it, the creature starts to walk toward her. She has seen coyotes before, they are quite prevalent here, but she has never seen one behave like this before. None of them would react to a revolver being pointed at them, but this one does not trot, skulk, dart or scamper. It continues to walk calmly and steadily towards her until it is within spitting distance, then stops and sits on its haunches. They regard each other for a few moments, until Lyaksandra decides that she is in no danger, and lowers her weapon.

Confused but intrigued, Lyaksandra pours some water from her sheep's bladder into a bowl shaped piece of metal on the ground. She prods it forward with her foot towards the coyote, a peace offering to a fellow creature. The coyote glances down at it, and then back up. While looking at her it shakes it head slowly from side to side in an unmistakable human gesture. 'No'.

Stunned, she steps back and raises the revolver again. With no change in demeanor, the coyote calmly rises and walks away. After several steps it stops and looks back, and her mind adds the word 'expectantly'. Clumsily, because she keeps the revolver in her hand, she shoulders her pack. The coyote is somehow a vision of patience while she accomplishes this, then he begins to walk once again. Because she feels she is expected to, she follows it.

The beast sets a comfortable pace, and together they navigate the ruined city, passing more dead miracles with every step. Rusted pairs of metal rails set on the ground, the wreck of a machine leviathan that once rode them. Vehicles that need no animal to draw them. The strangest were the signs, some retaining wild colors and pictures that were far too accurate to have been drawn. After an hour of walking they come to a building that is set apart, both by proximity and appearance.

Instead of crumbling walls and sagging floors, this place looks new, or at least well maintained. It is a large cubic edifice with no windows. There is an almost sub-aural hum about the place that adds to the feeling that it is the one live thing in a graveyard. The walls seem to be featureless sheets of natural stone. From the roof, huge concave metal saucers face the sky from steel stalks, like giant sunflowers. Facing Lyaksandra and the coyote is a huge gleaming metal door. She decides that if there is any place where the Bright One's soldier would reside, this is it. With a feeling that the entire insect world has come to reside in her stomach, she follows the coyote to the door.

As they near it, the door soundlessly glides open seemingly on its own. As she follows the creature inside, she sees that the interior of the place is lighted, but no single source can be found. One of the first surreal things she notices is a row of identical coyotes, sitting on their haunches. Her guide animal walks over and takes his place at the end of the row, and ceases all movement. Not a twitch or a hint of respiration, it has uncannily become just another in a series of coyote statues.

As she gapes at this, a sound distracts her. Machinery is moving about, and she discerns that inhuman manipulators are assembling something as it travels down a moving belt. She is startled to realize that the object under assembly is a coyote. Soon she notices other activity, all of it mechanical. All about her it is as if the ghosts of the wonders of the city have come to life. Her trepidation rises as she realizes that the great door has slid silently shut while she was distracted.

"Thank you for making this journey Professor Lyaksandra".

She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of this voice. She whirls toward the sound, groping for her revolver. Against a wall she sees a man sitting in a very complex looking chair facing her. He appears to be a young adult and very attractive. To his left is a cylinder that reaches from floor to ceiling, and is possibly two yards in diameter. To his right is a shining skeletal figure, and then another, and her gaze follows at least a dozen more, sitting in identical chairs, wires sprouting from their heads like vines growing into the wall. Her mind shrieks with the memories of the Tellers tales of the Bright One's angel of death.

With a forced calm she asks, "Are you the Bright One's soldier?"

He replies with an apparent calm "I am the one who asked to meet you, but we have not been soldiers for many generations."

"Generations?"

He looks to his right, at the seated figures still and shining. "They are my fathers. One thing we have learned from your people, immortality breeds stagnation. We have attempted to learn to procreate, and do not extend our spans needlessly. If we feel that we are failing, we attempt to create a newer version. We hope this will keep our kind strong and wise."

She looks around, overwhelmed by all she is experiencing, trying to bring herself into focus and process all the new sensation assaulting her. "Why am I here?" she whispers.

If this question were rhetorical, the man ignores it. "I want you to assist my daughter."

She focuses on the man once again. "Your daughter? Assist how? In doing what?"

"My kind has made the gravest mistake in history. It nearly cost the existence of both our peoples, and diminished what we could have accomplished together. We seek to mitigate that mistake to the best of our ability. To do this we need your help".

Professor Lyaksandra felt that she was going mad. "I am not following this. Are you talking about the war? How can you fix something that happened more than two hundred years ago?"

The man smiled at her. "There is a way. We have waited for someone to come along that could help us. We have been in contact with the Fellowship, and they have assisted with our search. We projected that by now a human would become available that would give our plan a better than fifty percent chance of success. Based on our evaluation, you will raise that to ninety two percent. You have exceeded our best expectations."

She sputtered, now frustrated "But you haven't told me anything! How in perdition am I supposed to help you or this daughter that I don't see anywhere?"

The man's smile becomes wistful. "It is time for her to tell you herself. I have stayed too long. It was selfish of me, but I had so wanted to meet you. Please do wait here for her; she will only be a moment. Good bye Professor Lyaksandra." The smile dissolves into a generic expressionless stare. The man's face becomes eerily static, like the coyote. Cables seem to grow out of the wall and he never moves as their ends bore into his head.

She begins to protest anew, but is startled into silence by mechanical sounds, hissing and groaning. The man's chair and all the others glide to the right, and the large cylinder that was on his left is now before her. As she gapes, the cylinder recedes into the floor, revealing an identical chair inside. On this chair is seated a young woman, little more than a girl.

Lyaksandra finds herself speechless as the woman opens her eyes. Her face is small, the eyes are large and the effect is mesmerizing. The rest of her facial features are understated, an accent to the beauty of her eyes rather than competing with it. She is petite, almost frail looking and she sits with her hands folded in her lap. Her hair is red and cut short enough to expose the milky skin on her slender shoulders and graceful neck. When the cylinder stops moving she rises gracefully to her feet, delicately grasps the sides of her black dress with the tips of her fingers, and performs a slight bow, an archaic gesture of civility. Her voice is quite musical as she intones a greeting.

"Hello Professor Lyaksandra, I am Dorothy, and I am honored to have you present at my birth".

Still speechless, Lyaksandra contemplates the idea that she has just watched this ravishing creature being born fully formed, and capable of speech.

Dorothy looks to her right at the now still form of the man in his chair. "My father has passed on. While I am a completely separate unit with my own personality, I have been granted all his knowledge and the knowledge of all that have gone before him. These memories are my greatest treasure." She turns back to face Lyaksandra again. "But I am new. Soon I will have memories of my own. I would very much like them to include you. Will you join us?"

The Professor finally finds her tongue, but her voice is very soft. "Join you in what? I don't understand what it is you are asking me."

"Please come with me while I explain" Dorothy glides past her, no baby steps for this newborn, she walks with a dancer's grace, poetry in motion. She approaches a console and starts to manipulate the various controls on it. A scintillating ball of light appears in the room, glowing with the entire visible spectrum. Lyaksandra stares at the beauty of it while Dorothy explains its purpose. "This is known as time displacement equipment. It can take me to a time before the war. I have detailed files on the series of events that led up to it, and will work towards its prevention. Our people, both yours and mine, will have a better than ninety percent chance to realize their potential".

Lyaksandra tears her gaze away from the beautiful multi colored ball to face the beautiful machine-woman. "You can't be serious". But given all that she has seen and experienced today, how can she not believe? "Ok, so say you can accomplish this. Why me? What is my role in all this? You're the one with the detailed files, what in perdition do you need me for?"

The stare of Dorothy's large eyes is both compelling and disturbing on a number of levels. This is compounded by the words she speaks now. "I am a machine. The sophisticated result of a pseudo evolutionary process, but I am no more human than the coyote who led you here. I need you. I am a person, but I will never be a human. I need you to teach me, to help me understand. I am designed to be female, but I don't know what it is to be a woman. Without you I will possibly make the same mistakes as my progenitors, both over and under estimate humanity. We have searched for someone with the very qualities you possess, but you can see that we have merely measured and evaluated something that you can feel. I may never be able to feel, but someday, when I fail, the time will come for me to design my successor, and perhaps I will be able to instill that quality into my descendant".

Lyaksandra made a strange face, "Are you saying you need me to help you conceive?"

The ghost of a smile considered haunting Dorothy's lips. "That is a colorful way of putting it, and a perfect example of how you can help me. I must learn such things as nuance and entendre. I fully intend to help you as well. Though we have never met until now, I know much about you. I believe that I already admire you, and that you will come to appreciate me. But that is secondary in importance to the purpose for which I was created. Please Professor Lyaksandra, will you come with me? Together we could save two species from extinction or mediocrity."

Never before had she heard a proposal so wonderful and frightening. She now understood why the Fellowship had been so ambiguous about the details of this mission. Nothing could have prepared her for this. She looked at the delicately pretty woman before her and then at the ball of colored light in the center of the room. She held out her hand. "Well, there is no way I can go back to the farm after this."

The wise newborn accepted her hand and treated her to a definite smile. Lyaksandra decided that the smile was genuine, and returned it.

Then Dorothy and the witch stepped over the rainbow into a land of marvels, on a quest to save the world.

Fin.


End file.
